wee hours. I wake up with my face hurting. When they do this surgery? They actually saw off your nose under your lip and face, then chip away some of the nose bone to fit the tools in to remove the tumor. I wake up with a sore face, have to do some moisture therapy with a pot of warm water with orange peels in it on the stove to help my nasal passages recover from the dryness and pain. That’s life! But the outcome is good, the tumor is gone, and today (yesterday actually) the Doctori informed me I am doing marvelous darling, and on my way to a much happier life. No cancer. No more pressure. No more hormonal drama.
Aside from waking in pain, I can’t immediately go back to sleep so I start making the roses. The vine is bound now, and its been tied to force it to conform to a not perfect circle, but more circular than ovular. Isn’t that symbolic of life? Conform, dammit. At least make an effort to conform.
Each rose has it’s own message. The one on the left is a Dad message. The one on the right is a Mom message. I’m mourning my “LOST” life, the life that would be the norm of a functioning family, vs the highly dysfunctional one I did experience. So when this is completed, I can let go my pain of not having a good growing up experience, because that’s why I hurt. It used to be I blamed, and I can’t blame anymore. I’ve learned that lesson. They were ignorant, they didn’t know any better, they came from ignorance, so they only had ignorance to give me. They came from pain and so they only had pain to give me.
Don’t get me wrong. There were glimpses of beauty and goodness in them, but for the most part dad and mom were seething with suffering themselves and no concept of how to cope without using alcohol or drugs to manage. They were far from junkies or booze hounds, but they used their fig leaves well to hide the naked truth: They didn’t know a damned thing about being parents or spouses, but they did it anyway. Fake it till you make it? Well, that’s not always a good outcome. At least not on children.
Example of what the roses read:
The Dad I didn’t experience:
A dad. A good, healthy, loving dad. A dad that hugged instead of hitting and kicking. A dad that talked instead of lectured and yelled. A dad that respect my body instead of using it for satisfying his sickness. A dad that shared happiness with me. A dad that communicated love and respect. A dad that saw me for who I was, his daughter.
The Mom is much the same. When I get to my sister, it will be the same too, but I have to admit, I don’t like to call her my sister, as we never were. She is more a sibling. An entity that was there for the sole purpose of hurting me out of her own wounded soul. I was the next in line. It went Dad punishes mom who punished my sibling who punished me. Unless it veered straight from dad to the pets, who either ended up a bloody mess or shot in the head in the back forty someplace. Yep. It wasn’t a cheery environment.
There was some though. I remember my mom early on. I was a toddler. She would paint the windows for the holiday and sing to Nat King Cole, and she had a voice like an angel. But dad took that away. Music was removed from our lives, singing disappeared, and well, it became very sad and frightening. My mom suffered, my sibling suffered, and I suffered because dad suffered.
SO, now, 57 years later, I’m trying to put myself into an organized being. I’m getting there too. It’s been a long job. I had a lot of years of just surviving and doing it the hard way with lots of drama and violence. Damned sad.
My advice ? If you react instead of think and feel? If you can’t handle your feelings? If you hide in booze or drugs ? If you get thrills from violence and pain? Don’t have kids. Don’t have kids until you mature out of that shit. Because you are going to put a hurt on them and then, if you have any kind of mind or heart at all, you’ll feel remorse for them. Get yourself RIGHT first, and unite with someone else who has themselves RIGHT…because two wrongs do NOT make a right….two wounded souls, do not make a whole person. You gotta love yourself first, get right with yourself, and then match up with another right soul…and then love up the kids you decided to make… kids NEED love to grow up confident enough to handle this very dangerous world. They need love, guidance, confidence, and discipline about how to survive and thrive.
For me? I’m past that point. Now I’m working this art to get it OUT of my soul. Like the drawing of the Moth to a Flame, to get that experience out of me and into a work where it can stay on a wall and be an expression that no longer needs to haunt me in the wee hours, or in flashbacks, or in nightmares.
And that life I missed? There is no getting it back. You don’t get to go back. You only get to feel. You only get to remember and mourn what you didn’t get to have as a kid, and then, when the mourning is done, you let go. I’ll be glad when the wreath is finished, and I can hang it up…and let it go.